Thudding of heavy rain
against the tin roof
deep as thunder,
as the chill arrives carried
on the back of the north wind
and the wings of geese
fleeing south.

Black winged clouds
dark as ravens eyes,
chase the day away west
and down the ridge
into dark hollows and deep ferned rests
of wildings and heavy furred souls.

Scent of woodsmoke
curls up from unseen hearths
where bright fires catch the last of the sun,
warming benches and tidy rooms
hidden from all but wide eyed owls
roosting til moonrise.

I watch the clouds spill over the ridge
and into my kitchen
deepening the dark of autumn,
my dusk and evening prayers.